


Laila's Skinnymandria

by LailaLiquorice



Category: Horrible Histories
Genre: Basically every character on the show may appear in this, Eventual Romance, Family, Friendship, Gen, I know I'm biased but this is pretty adorable, Laila isn't involved in the romance though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LailaLiquorice/pseuds/LailaLiquorice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skinnymandria is a country where all the characters throughout history live together in (relative) peace and harmony. Laila is a young girl who lives in Skinnymandria, cared for by the Monarchs in the absence of her own birth parents. Taken in by Elizabeth and cared for by Charles and Boudicca too, she is loved by all residents of Skinnymandria and treated like one of their own. But her life before she was discovered abandoned remains a mystery, and the reclusive highwayman who saved her life as a child may be the key to answering that question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“Before Skinnymandria was formed, there was a great war between the nations.” Elizabeth began as she gently brushed the young girl’s long gingery-brown hair. She had told this story countless times, yet the girl never seemed tired of hearing it. “Georgian fought Celt, Tudors battled Victorians, the entire land was in chaos. The only thing certain as that the land or its people would not be able to endure much more of the fighting; the war had to be stopped, or the land would fall into ruin.”

“Then what happened?” the girl asked, her tone hushed with anticipation.

Elizabeth smiled at the girl’s enthusiasm before continuing. “From the Greek armies came a commander by the name of Alexander the Great. He proposed a future in which the nations were united as one, so all the people would live in peace and harmony. Many people approved of this idea, but not so much man who proposed it. Alexander was known for being greedy with his territory and leaders of the other nations feared that they would lose control of their part of the land. With this distrust, the chaos nearly descended again, Alexander’s idea almost trodden into the dust.”

“But then Heph arrived to save us all!” The girl cheered, leaping to her feet and shooting her fist into the air.

“Yes, Laila, he did.” Elizabeth chuckled. “Alexander had a companion, known as Hephaestion. Unlike Alexander he had a reputation for being a fair leader, kind to his people and willing to collaborate with his equals. He drew up a revised map of the land, where each nation was given an area of territory proportionate to the number of people living within it. In the very centre of the land would be a town known as MonarchsVille-“

“Where we live!” Laila interrupted with a grin.

“- bordered by all the individual nations. The leaders of the nations would all live together in this town where they would be able to meet easily and discuss the future of the land as a whole. This idea was proposed to all the leaders, and a vote was cast to decide the future of the land.”

Elizabeth paused and Laila looked up at her in confusion. “Aren’t you going to carry on?” she asked.

“I can’t right now, I promised to visit my mother before the Monarchs’ Meeting this afternoon.” Elizabeth sighed as Laila gave her a forlorn look.  “You’re going to spend the afternoon with a good friend of mine; Ludwig van Beethoven. I’m sure you’ll have a nice time with him.”

Laila smiled as she took the Tudor Queen’s hand and eagerly made her way towards the door.

* * *

 

When they arrived outside Beethoven’s house just outside the MonarchsVille boundary, the elderly composer was nowhere to be seen. Instead a green-clothed figure with bright flaming hair stood leaning on the letterbox, and when Elizabeth approached her she looked up with a smile.

“Ah, Boudicca. Do you know where Beethoven might be?” Elizabeth asked, while Laila sprinted up to Boudicca and was swept into her arms.

“Take a wild guess!” Boudicca laughed, pointing in the direction of the neighbouring house while giving the girl an affectionate hug.

Elizabeth turned to look where Boudicca, where great deal of loud shouting could be heard coming from the house next door. “Don’t tell me he’s arguing with Mozart again about who’s the better composer?”

Boudicca nodded grimly. “But he asked for me to look after this little one until he was finished, so you can still see Anne Boleyn before the Meeting gets going.”

Laila let out an excited whoop, always happy to spend time with the Celtic Queen. “Can you tell me the Union of the Nations story?”

“I sure can, but you know that no-one tells it better than Lizzie here does.” Boudicaa grinned in response.

“Thank you Boudicca,” Elizabeth nodded relievedly before hurrying back towards central MonarchsVille as fast as her cumbersome dress would allow her to go.  She suddenly stopped, turned, and called back “We got to the part where the first vote was cast!”

Boudicca waved her off, before unclasping her cloak and laying it down on the ground for them both to sit on. Laila’s dark brown eyes were practically sparkling with excitement as she waited for the story, so she wasted no time before continuing. “When the results of the vote were gathered, everyone was shocked. Not one leader had voted to continue the war. Every leader of every nation was willing to put their trust in Hephaestion, and therefore he was appointed the Prince of the new land. Since the original idea had been suggested by Alexander, he was given the privilege of choosing the name of the land. In honour of his dear companion the land was named Skinnymandria, a name that only reflected its leader rather than any of the nations that it was composed of. Each individual nation was named after the people who inhabited it; TudorTown, StuartVille, the Celtic District, the War Zone and the Victorian City were just some of the few newly named nations.

“But despite the pledge of loyalty towards Skinnymandria made by each leader, there was still an amount of distrust between some of the leaders. Hostility remained between many individuals even though... even though relationships blossomed between others, putting the union of the whole Council of Monarchs at a strain. Criminals thrived, taking advantage of the differences between laws in each nation. It was eventually decided that an example had to be made of one such criminal to show that the Council was strong enough.”

A strange clouded look had come across Boudicca’s green eyes as she finished speaking, and she looked away at the ground. “Don’t be sad,” Laila told her with a frown, shuffling forward until she could put both her arms around Boudicca’s neck.

Boudicca gave an odd sort of laugh as she returned the hug. “I’m not,” she said, squeezing her harder.

Footsteps approaching made Laila release her grasp around Boudicca’s neck, both of them looking over to see Beethoven approaching. “Is that Elizabeth’s little daughter I can see there?”

Boudicca tensed up immediately, shooting an irritated glare at the composer as she snapped “You know she’s not Lizzie’s daughter, Beethoven, she belongs to all of us in MonarchsVille.”

Beethoven just smiled ignorantly; Boudicca rolled her eyes, remembering too late that he was unlikely to have heard much of what she’d just said. “Now remind me, little one, what did our Prince decide to call you again?” he asked, crouching down to Laila’s eye level.

“It’s Laila,” she informed him with an eye roll almost equal to Boudicca’s. “I’ve known you since I was a baby and I’m nearly six now, but you keep forgetting.”

“Ah, Leah, yes I remember now.” Laila giggled as he misheard her yet again, her frustration cast aside. “I do believe I’m looking after you for the afternoon during the Monarch’s Meeting. Come on in then.”

Laila scrambled off Boudicca’s lap to take the composer’s hand. “Bye Boudicca. Coming Mr Beetle-oven.” She chirped with a mischievous grin, knowing that he wouldn’t notice her purposeful error. “Do you know the story of the Union of the Nations?”

“I certainly do Leah, and I can tell it to you if you’d like,” he said after needing a moment to work out what she’d said. Unlocking his front door, he showed Laila into the living room and helped boost her into an armchair.

“We’re at the bit where the all the crinima... crimini... naughty people were being bad,” she eventually settled with, face contorting as she tried to pronounce the word.

Beethoven nodded slowly as he sank down into the chair opposite.  “Ah, yes, it’s all coming back to me now. A plot to blow up the Council Building was discovered. This was the doing of Fawkes’ Thirteen, a group of StuartVille Catholics who were unhappy with the Protestant majority in the Council of Monarchs. But their punishments were limited due to the support they received from fellow Catholic sympathisers within the Council.”

“Wasn’t that Lizzie’s sister?” Laila asked, uncertainty in her voice.

“Yes it was; Mary Tudor and her husband Phillip,” Beethoven explained patiently, “They’ve always been devout Catholics. They also had support from the Borgia Family, as well as a few monarchs from the Medieval City.”

Laila hesitated as Beethoven paused for thought, a question at the tip of her tongue and a battle waging in her mind over whether to ask it or not. She’d begged for this detail many a time but had either been gentle rebuked or brushed off. Eventually her curiosity won over, her words tumbling out in a hasty rush as she asked “Who was it that got punished then?”

Beethoven hummed questioningly, cupping his hands around his ears. There was no going back now; Laila cleared her throat before asking louder “Who got punished?”

“Hmm? Oh yes,” Beethoven nodded, and Laila listened intently as he continued. “The blame was placed on another individual, although it is unknown to this day whether or not he was truly involved in the scheme. It was rumoured that his relationship with one of the leaders – the Celtic representative, I believe – had allowed him special access into the Council Building and this was how the Thirteen were able to gain access to the cellars beneath the Council. Our Prince was faced with a difficult decision; the Thirteen had already been pardoned, yet he needed to punish one of the criminals otherwise Skinnymandria would be shown as weak. A vote was cast within the Council, and all but one leader elected for him to be banished from the Nation. He would be allowed to roam free in the forests around the land, but if he was ever caught he would be killed.”

Laila’s mouth was ajar as she tried to process that information. She’d never been told the story in such detail before; Elizabeth had never mentioned a supporter actually in the Council, and the thought of someone she knew wanting to help a criminal made her head feel strange. For a moment she thought hard about which of the Celts she knew it could have been, before deciding that they probably got punished too and weren’t on the Council any more. That made her feel better.

After a few minutes of thoughtful quiet, she piped back up with “Mr Beetle-oven, do you know what his name was?” When there was no immediate answer she assumed he hadn’t heard her, and was about to repeat the question when she looked up to see him asleep in his chair. She let out a frustrated sigh and crossed her arms, knowing her chance to find out had slipped away.

Unsure whether to wake him or not, her gaze drifted around the room until it eventually settled on an open window next to the piano. A glance back at Beethoven reassured her that he was definitely asleep, but even though she kept quiet as she slid out of the armchair and tiptoed across the room. It was just out of her reach, but after dragging the piano stool across she was able to climb up and place her hands on the window sill. With careful movements she pulled herself up to stand, before losing her balance and falling out of the window into a helpfully placed clump of ferns.

Ignoring the sting of her scratched hands, Laila brushed the dirt off of her dress and got back to her feet. There was no way she could climb back in through the window so she looked around for something to do outside. Her attention was grabbed by the sound of gurgling water, and after a second’s consideration she set off towards the sound. She quickly discovered that the river that ran through MonarchsVille passed nearby, an excited grin splitting her face as she picked up her dress and started running.

In her excitement she paid no attention to what was underfoot. When something pulled taught around her ankle she screamed in fright, falling headfirst into the river with a painful splash that forced all the air out of her chest. Fear drove her to claw her way up to the surface and she thrashed her arms frantically to keep herself there.

The sound of hysterical laughter made her look up in the desperate hope of rescue. “You’ve been Artois’d!” shouted the man on the bank, pointing and jeering in her direction.

“Help!” Laila cried, trying to wave frantically without her head going back under the surface. “Please, help me!”

The man showed no signs he’d heard her plea; instead he cheered as he pumped his fist into the air before disappearing into the forest. A shriek of “Top of the pops!” was the last she heard of him.

Laila could feel her legs beginning to burn from the effort of kicking, her sodden dress threatening to drag her down under the water, but a branch floating nearby gave her something to cling onto. She was too exhausted to do anything other than just hold on, letting the river taken her downstream without much thought to where she’d eventually end up.

Fortunately that place turned out to be a sand bank on the edge of the river. She was too tired and cold to do anything other than curl up in an attempt to stop her shivering, wishing vaguely that Elizabeth or Charles or Boudicca would find her too. Her tired mind hardly registered a cloak being draped over her or strong arms gently picking her up, not caring who her saviour was as her head lolled onto their shoulder.

After a few minutes spent warming up, she’d regained enough awareness to start trying to figure out where she was and who she was with. Where was easy – they were in the middle of a forest – but the who was a lot harder. She twisted her head in an attempt to see his face but it was mostly covered by a black cloth, leaving only dark brown eyes and tousled black hair. He met her gaze briefly before he stopped walking, stooping to set her down on a log with his cloak still wrapped around her shoulders.

Once on the ground Laila was able to get a better look at him, noting his smart black jacket and three-pointed had as well as the two pistols in his belt. She opted to look back at his face rather than lingering on those, and was surprised to find him looking at her intently. Pulling his cloak tighter around as she shivered, she broke the silence by asking “Who are you?”

The stranger immediately tensed, eyes darting round uncertainly as if looking for someone. “If I tell you,” he began slowly, “You must give me your word never to speak of it again.” When Laila nodded solemnly he removed the black cloth, revealing a clean-shaven face with the beginnings of a smile. “Dick Turpin, highwayman and fugitive, at your service m’lady.” He dropped to one knee in a sweeping bow and removed his hat, taking Laila’s hand and kissing it lightly.

Laila giggled lightly at his display. “I’m Laila,” she said, grinning brightly.

Turpin’s expression turned thoughtful, letting go of her hand as he gave a slow nod. He seemed to be about to say something when they both heard the sound of someone crashing through the undergrowth; Laila stood up to get a better look but Turpin drew her close to him, crouching with a pistol drawn in his free hand.

Laila could just about make out a figure in red treading cautiously through the trees, but it wasn’t until he was much closer that he recognised the familiar black moustache and black curly wig. “Charlie!” she shouted before Turpin could clap a hand over her mouth, fighting out of his grasp to run into Charles’ arms.

“Laila, thank goodness,” Charles let out a ragged breath as he embraced her tightly, before leaning back to take a proper look at her. “What happened to you?” he asked as he pushed her wet hair from her face and made an attempt to brush out some of the grit that remained from the sand bank.

“I found her on the riverbank.” Laila felt Charles stiffen when Turpin spoke, both of them turning to see him regarding them warily. “I only rescued her. This has nothing to do with me.”

When Charles frowned, Laila moved back to stand between him and Turpin with his cloak still clasped tightly around her. “He’s telling the truth!” she insisted, looking Charles desperately in the eye. “There was a man who tripped me and told me I was Artois’d. Then he ran away and left me.”

Charles hesitated again, conflict written across his face. Wordlessly he knelt back down and removed the cloak from around Laila’s shoulders, begrudgingly handing it back to Turpin who took it without thanks.  “In any other circumstances, I would have no choice but to have you arrested,” he started slowly, wincing when Laila clapped a hand across her mouth in shock. “But seeing as you saved Laila and returned her to us, I won’t speak of this. I suggest you make yourself scarce so I’m not forced to make that decision a second time.”

The relief on Turpin’s face was immense despite his visible attempts to conceal it. “Thank you Charles. This won’t be forgotton,” he said in a voice still somewhat stilted. He tipped his hat to Laila, not waiting to see her smile before turning and disappearing into the trees.

“Charlie?” Laila asked tiredly, breaking the quiet that followed Turpin’s departure. Her words seemed to jolt Charles out of his thoughts and he bent down to scoop her into his arms. “I never got to finish the Union of the Nations story. Can you tell me the last bit?”

“Which part?”

“The bit about the girl.” Laila replied, yawning widely as she snuggled into his warm tunic.

As he thought for a moment where to start with the story, he began the long walk back to central MonarchsVille. If he was to make good on his promise to Turpin he’d need to call off the search party before someone else discovered him. “Two years after the Gunpowder Plot she was abandoned in the forest bordering MonarchsVille, found by the TudorTown monarch Elizabeth and brought back to the Council. She was unique in that she belonged to no nation in particular, so every leader loved her and treated her as their own. It was decided that she would live in MonarchsVille, and that Elizabeth would be her prime carer as it was her who had found the girl in the first place. Hephaestion decided that she would receive a Greek name like him, and after suggestions were collected the Council voted on-“ Hearing a soft intake of breath he realised that she had fallen asleep, the events of the day finally proving too much for her. “They decided to name her Laila, affectionately known as the Princess of Skinnymandria.”

Dropping a gentle kiss on her forehead, he whispered the last line of the story. “So you could say that the arrival of you united the nations far more than any silly old pledge did.”


	2. Chapter 1

_12 years later_

* * *

 

“Laila! What in the name of Skinnymandria are you doing?”

Laila startled at the shout, balanced precariously on a low branch of a tree at the edge of the forest. “Trying to find Elagabalus’s lion. I was put on walking duty since he’s busy organising a dinner party for this afternoon, but I, err, seem to have lost him.” She’d figured that a higher vantage point would help her spot the lion quicker, which was important, since a few years ago the lion had escaped into the Stone Age Settlement and the casualty rate had been high.

“That’s all very well, but you’ll ruin your dress! And there are leaves in your hair!” Elizabeth cried in despair. Laila suppressed a smile; although she loved the Tudor Queen who had taken her in seventeen years ago, Elizabeth could be a little controlling at times.

“Don’t worry,” Laila assured her “once I’ve found Elagabalus’s lion I’ll take him back to the Roman City via the Historical Shopping Centre. A letter arrived this morning to say my Fashion Fix parcel is ready to be collected.”

“Well as long as you’re looking presentable by the time you get back!” Elizabeth called before muttering something inaudible and heading back into the house.

After looking around for another few minutes, a flash of yellow amongst the trees caught her attention and she sighed with relief. Climbing carefully down from the tree she ventured fearlessly into the forest and grabbed the lion’s collar to prevent him from making a getaway. Attaching the rein to the collar she climbed onto Ozzie, her horse, whom she’d left tied to one of the branches while he ate his lunch and she lion-hunted. Satisfied with the tight grip she had on the lion’s rein, she rode slowly in the direction of the Historical Shopping Centre. This was situated in a small area on the edge of MonarchsVille, in the same place as the HHTV reports were filmed as well as the comedy show ‘Stupid Deaths’. She left Ozzie and the lion in the stables and walked through the square to the Fashion Fix shop.

“Good morning m’lady, what era would you like to be dressed as today?” sounded Lee’s voice, though she couldn’t see him from where she was stood. Clearly he’d heard the door open and was anticipating a customer.

“Just the usual Lee, the mismatched stuff.” Laila replied. She didn’t like to dress as a particular era, simply because she didn’t belong to any particular nation. Having so many close friends in so many different nations meant that she would never be able to please anyone if she dressed in a certain style, which was why she opted for a collection of her favourite garments from each nation.

“Ah yes. Sorry Laila, I didn’t see you there.” Lee apologised, appearing from behind a storage cupboard to hand her a parcel. “Here’s what you ordered last week.”

Laila took the parcel from Lee’s hands and started unwrapping it carefully. Inside was a long purple dress- purple for the colour of royalty, not to dissimilar to Elizabeth’s more casual dresses- a navy blue tartan cloak like those worn in the Celtic District, and a pair of black laced boots that clearly belonged in the Victorian City.

“This is perfect, thanks Lee.” She smiled gratefully, making a botched attempt to roll everything back up inside the brown paper and retie the string.

“It’s no problem at all. You’re going to need it I think, what in the name of Skinnymandria have you been doing!”

“I lost Elagabalus’s lion.” Laila answered meekly.

Lee nodded. “Ah. That makes sense.”

“I’d better get him back to Elagabalus’s house” she said, noting the time on her wristclock. “Thanks again Lee!” she called behind her just before the door fell shut.

Once out of Fashion Fix, she hurried quickly back to the stables. A loud honk caught her attention and she looked over to see a motorcar driving past, far faster than she was allowed to ride on the roads or pathways. It was unusual to see them outside the Victorian City but she only had time to shoot it a jealous look before continuing on her journey. Once there she tucked the parcel into a pocket on her saddle and climbed onto Ozzie’s back, and rode as quickly as she could - with the lion slowing them down - to Elagabalus’ mansion on the edge of the Roman City. A little out of breath from her frantic journey, she knocked on the great door and was answered by the teenage Roman Emperor himself.

 “Yo, Laila, got my lion?” Elagabalus greeted her, motioning for her to come in through the door. “Oh, mind the guts as you’re going.” he added, pointing to the pile of blood-spattered guts sat in various places on the floor.

“What did the guts say this morning?” Laila asked; she’d given up asking why he kept human intestines on his floor a long time ago.

“That my dinner party is gonna be totally random!” Elagabalus laughed, “I’ve got Charlie and Thomkins here and I’m waiting for George the fourth and Mrs... Tombleby Bottomcheek to arrive! It’s a good thing you got here, I wanted the lion in the bedroom by the time Mrs Pumbleby Tumblechook got here.”

Laila raised an eyebrow. “Any particular reason?” she asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

“Yeea, I heard from some people she always snoops around people’s homes,” he responded with a devilish grin, “Especially people who are as nearly as important as I am. So I'm gonna put the lion in the one of the guest rooms and-”

“I can guess the rest,” she cut in, wincing at the thought of the snobby Victorian woman’s reaction to discovering a lion.

“I know! Huhuhuh I’m so random!” Elagabalus laughed again, taking the lion’s lead from her hand and wandering up the stairs to where the guest bedrooms were. Laila followed the trail of guts into the dining room, careful to avoid the blood stains which would only worsen the state of her already-scruffed shoes, to join the rest of the guests.

 “Good day to you Laila!” Thomkins proclaimed, jumping to his feet and dropping into a low bow.

Laila laughed as he did so, having always found the gesture to be amusing. “How many times do I need to tell you Home Guard lot, I’m not a Monarch!”

“But you’re effectively Elizabeth’s daughter!” he protested, sitting back down.

Charles opened his mouth to say something, but they all fell quiet when a clearly Victorian woman caught their attention from the hallway. Amused glances were exchanged when she stuggled to fit her dress through the door frame, each person wondering if they’d have to offer her assistance, but a collective relieved sigh could be heard when she managed to squeeze her way through.

“Good day to you all, I am Mrs Tumbleby Pumblechook.” she announced, before fixing each person with an intense stare.

“Good morning Mrs Pumbleby Tumblechook,” chorused Laila, Charles, and Thomkins quietly, not wanting to risk enduring her wrath if she didn’t receive the police reception. This was common in the Victorian City but scarcely adhered to in MonarchsVille as everyone was of the same status.

“Tumbleby Pumblechook,” she corrected with a frown.

“That’s what we said, wasn’t it?” Charles asked, tilting his head in confusion though with a barely concealed smile.

Mrs Tumbleby Pumblechook huffed loudly before turning to Elagabalus, who had just returned from upstairs. “Now if you don’t mind, Elagabalus, I’m going to have a look round.” She announced, turning round and pushing her dress forcefully through the door.

Elagabalus grinned. “Now this’ll be fun to watch! I’m so random sometimes,” he laughed before leaving to follow her upstairs at some distance.

Once Elagabalus had gone, Laila turned back around and caught sight of Thomkin’s bandaged hand. “What in the name of Skinnymandria have you done to your hand!” she exclaimed

“I sliced the top of my finger off trying to adjust the strap on my helmet,” he replied sheepishly, going slightly pink with embarrassment.

Charles laughed. “Well that was a bit silly wasn’t it!”

A deafening roar and a scream of “Argh! There’s a lion in here!” silenced them, followed by a great deal of snarling and a triumphant laugh which could only belong to Elagabalus.

Laila glanced at Charlie and mumbled “I think Mrs Tombleby Bottomcheek, as Elagabalus calls her, has found the lion.”

 

* * *

 

After Mrs Tumbleby Pumblechook had been taken to the Historical Hospital, Laila and the other guests were served their lunch. Or, at least, what they thought would be lunch. It turned out that Elagabalus had just given them rocks and wax painted to look like food, and kept all the edible items for himself. George was holding his hand to his cheek with a pained expression on his face; in his eagerness to eat he’d forgotten about Elagabalus’ prankster reputation and bitten into a rock without a second thought.

 “That’s it, dinner’s over, off you go everyone.” Elagabalus announced as he leant back in his lounger, looking like he was waiting to be fed grapes. George marched off, not needing to be told twice. By the time Laila, Charles and Thomkins were outside, George was already on his horse and riding in the direction of MonarchsVille.

“Blimey.” Charles stated. “He was keen to get out.”

“He was probably eager to get to the Historical Dentist, that’s got to have been painful.” Laila shrugged with a sympathetic expression,

“I’ll be off them.” Thomkins waved goodbye, climbing into his plane which he’d parked next to where the horses had been tied. “Tally ho folks!” He took off, wobbled a bit in midair, and promptly crashed into a tree at the far edge of Elagabalus’s garden.

Laila shook her head in despair. “Who’s idea was it to give the Home Guard aeroplanes?” she asked Charles.

“That’d be Blenkinsopp for you. He and Maltravis begged so hard that the Army leader gave in. Worst decision of his career I think.” Charles replied with laughter in his voice. “We’d best get back to MonarchsVille.”

Laila nodded in agreement as she untied Ozzie before pulling herself up into the saddle, checking that her parcel was still there. She and Charles began riding leisurely through the quiet streets of MonarchsVille; Elizabeth and Charles’ houses were both on the side of the village nearest TudorTown and StuartVille, the opposite side to where the Roman City was. Considering it was the capital of Skinnymandria, the streets were often surprisingly quiet, so their journey was uninterrupted.

“Do you like living in MonarchsVille?”Charles asked her out of the blue. Laila looked glanced over in surprise at the question, and her confusion must have shown on her face as he added “It’s just that you don’t like people treating you like a Monarch, so I wondered if you were happy living with us.”

There was no hesitation before Laila nodded. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known,” she started, “so I’d hate to live anywhere else. You’re all my family, and although I’ll never feel like a true Monarch, the Home Guard do have a valid point in calling me one!” She and Charles both laughed at that.

“But you never wish that you could know who your real parents are?” Charles pressed, and this time Laila really had to stop and think.

“No,” she eventually said, “I’m happy things turned out like they did. There’s no telling what my life would have been like if my parents had kept me, and I can’t imagine not living here in MonarchsVille.”

Charles smiled, “That’s a good thing, because I’m pretty sure every member of the Council of Monarchs would miss you if you weren’t here. Monarch Council Meetings just wouldn’t be the same without the golden-haired girl on her stool in the corner; you’ve been there for the past five years and I can scarcely remember what it was like without you!”

“Well I can tell you one thing, you wouldn’t get nearly as much done!” Laila grinned. It was a widely accepted fact that the Council would have fallen apart on many occasions if Laila hadn’t been there to make them compromise with each other. Her twelfth birthday tread had been to be allowed into the Monarch Council Meetings, and after her presence had proven to be incredible useful she’d been to practically every one since. Her job was easier now than it had been five years ago since the relationships between the Monarchs of different nations had greatly improved, but it could still be a challenge at times.

To her surprise, George had waited for them just outside the house he shared with his crazed father George III. Upon hearing the hooves of Laila and Charles’ horses approaching him, he looked up with the usual frown on his face, hand still clamped to cheek. “Took your time,” he said abruptly.

Laila shrugged. “We were just talking. Anyway, shouldn’t you be going to the Historical Dentist with that tooth?”

“Well you shouldn’t have been!” George snapped, “And I will be doing nothing of the sort- those oversized tongs aren’t coming anywhere near my mouth!” Once he’d finished his rant he stormed into his house, but forgot to close the front door in his haste.

“What’s up with him?” Laila queried to Charles, though she’d grown use to his grumpy personality.

“That tooth must be bothering him more than he’s letting on.” Charles sighed, “Come on, let’s get you back to Lizzie so she doesn’t have me executed for keeping you too long.”

“Charlie, I’m not a child anymore,” Laila retorted with more bite in her tone than she’d intended, the temper she’d acquired from her adopted mother getting the better of her for a moment. Seeing Charles’ eyes widen with shock, she immediately regretted what she said and leant over in her saddle to touch his wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout,” she apologised, “it’s just Lizzie can get a little overbearing at times, and I enjoy having some time away from home.”

Charles smiled reassuringly, patting Laila’s arm to let her know there were no hard feelings. “It’s alright,” he said with a smile as he got down from his horse. “I can only imagine how much Lizzie must watch over you, even though she only does it out of love, and I know she can get very frustrating at times.” Laila nodded. “I’ll talk to her, and see if I can arrange something so you’ll get more time to yourself without her on your back.”

Laila grinned, sliding elegantly out of the saddle before hugging her friend. “Thanks Charlie, it would be a real help. Let’s go and see how we can help George.”

 “Typical Laila, always wanting to take care of everyone.”  Charles laughed, tentatively approaching George’s house.

The sound of someone shouting her name make Laila look up sharply to see Robert Cecil, one of Elizabeth’s courtiers, riding towards them.“Laila, Elizabeth is asking after you!” he called breathlessly once he was within hearing range.

Laila nodded briskly, knowing that if Elizabeth had deliberately summoned her then there must be a good reason. “I’ll go and see what she wants, thanks Cecil,” she replied.

 “At last, someone who doesn’t call me ‘Pygmy’,” Robert sighed before turning his horse round to ride back to Elizabeth’s house.

“I’d best be off, it’s probably not a good idea to keep Elizabeth waiting.” Laila apologised as she climbed back onto her horse, waving goodbye to Charles before trotting after Cecil. A thought occurred to her and she called back “Good luck getting George to the Historical Dentist!”

Charles waved after her, laughing to himself at her last comment. He turned towards George’s house, a rueful look on his face, and remarked to himself “I think I’ll need it.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's a little confused, I'll explain about Laila's age down here.
> 
> Laila was found in the forest when she was under a year old, two years after Turpin was exiled from Skinnymandria. The prologue took place 5 years after she was found, making her almost 6 years old. There's a 12 year time gap between the prologue and chapter 1, meaning that chapter 1 took place 17 years after she was found, meaning she's approaching 18 years old.
> 
> I hope that clears it up a little xD


	3. Chapter 2

As soon as Cecil unlocked Elizabeth’s front door to let her in, Laila went straight through the house into the drawing room where Elizabeth was sat at her desk. By some miracle she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace and was reminded instantly that she needed to change before she talked to Elizabeth. But fortune wasn’t on her side; she only had time to brush the last leaves out of her hair before Elizabeth looked up from the letter she was writing and saw her.

“What happened to the agreement that you’d be changed before you returned home?” Elizabeth asked sharply, noting the clothing parcel still tucked underneath one arm.

Laila hesitated for a moment, trying to think quickly of an excuse to use before giving up and responding “I came as soon as Cecil told me, there wasn’t any time.”

“Well, thank you for coming back on such short notice.” Elizabeth said as she looked back down as her letter; Laila sighed quietly with relief when the subject was changed away from her clothing. Writing the last word on her letter she put the quill down and closed the inkwell before meeting Laila’s eyes. “It has been brought to my attention that there will be a Tudor hierarchy meeting next Moon-day.” Laila leaned over Elizabeth’s open diary to work out how long away that was, and was surprised to find that today was Saturn-day and there were only two days before Elizabeth would need to be in TudorTown. “I’ll be there for a week, and during that time you’ll be staying in MonarchsVille with Charlie.”

A grin lit up Laila’s face when Elizabeth said she’d be staying with Charles. _A whole week where I can do what I like- this is exactly what I need,_ she thought joyously. “Thanks Lizzie!” she exclaimed, “When do you need me to be there.”

“Well I know you’re helping out in the Historical Hospital tomorrow, so I thought it would make sense if you  simply went back to Charlie’s house rather than returning home after your shift ends,” Elizabeth said, “though in that case you’ll need to take any belongings you need with you over there beforehand. It’s your decision, as long as you’re out of the house by Sun-day evening. Pygmy will be accompanying me to TudorTown, so there’ll be no-one to look after you if you’re still here.”

 “That makes sense. I think I’ll take everything over there now, if you don’t mind.” Elizabeth nodded in acknowledgement before taking out another sheet of paper and beginning to write.

Interpreting that as her dismissal, Laila backed quietly out of the drawing room before heading upstairs to where her bedroom was.  Her fashion fix parcel was practically falling apart after being taken across MonarchsVille and back so she started by laying out the contents across her bed, raiding her wardrobe for enough clothes to last her the rest of the week away from home. Glancing at the clouded sky out her window, she took the new cloak from her parcel and attached it round her neck, admiring the blue jewelled clasp for a moment, before focusing back on the task at hand. She made a rough job of folding up the dresses so she’d have room for a few other things she’d need then turned to the chest at the end of her bed. Rummaging through her books, she tucked a copy of ‘Bob Hale’s Incredible Fact Book’ into the bag to keep her occupied, but left ‘The History of Fishes’ firmly at the bottom of the chest. When her gaze drifted to the longbow and quiver by the head of her bed, she considered for a moment before slinging the bow over her shoulder and tying the quiver round her waist. Knowing full well that Elizabeth wouldn’t be very impressed seeing her with her full weaponry - she had voiced severe doubts when Boudicca first suggested teaching Laila how to shoot - she snuck out the front door without bidding her adopted mother goodbye.

The distance between Elizabeth and Charles’ houses was short enough that it wasn’t worth riding, but that meant Charles would probably still be with George at the Historical Dentist by the time she got there regardless of how slowly she walked. The sound of the branches above her being blown by the gentle breeze gave her an idea though; Charles didn’t know she was coming anyway, so it wouldn’t hurt anyone if she went through the Skinnymandrian Forest rather than taking the direct route. It had been a couple of weeks since she’d been there anyway, so with her mind made up she turned her back on MonarchsVille and set out towards the trees.

As always, Laila kept her wits about her as she walked down the main forest path. Her eyes were peeled for any sign of the man she was searching for, but as she ventured further away from the capital city she tried not to let her hopes dip too much. The sound of another horse galloping through the forest made her spirits soar however,  eagerly running in the direction of the sound while looking out for the telltale black cloak and three-pointed hat.

“Stand and deliver, your money or your life!” A voice sounded out, igniting a smile on Laila’s face. She was known enough throughout Skinnymandria that none of the other highwaymen would dare to approach her, the fear of Elizabeth’s wrath stronger than the need to fill their purses. For that reason, she had agreed with this particular highwayman that his former catchphrase would be their secret code, as he was the only person who would say it to her. She was confused, however, as despite the voice she couldn’t see another horse anywhere in the area. It was only when the glossy-coated black mare burst out of the undergrowth almost right beside her that she saw Turpin at last. The horse reared in alarm it spotted Laila mere feet in front of it, and when Laila took an instinctive step backwards she lost her footing and fell backwards into a hawthorn bush.

“I can see why you’re the most wanted criminal in Skinnymandria if you go around doing that to people!” she groaned as Turpin’s concerned face appeared above her.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise you were that close,” Turpin apologised as he helped her to her feet, “You’re alright though?”

After brushing stray bits of foliage off of her dress, she looked back at Turpin and nodded. “Just about. That’s the second time I’ve been covered in leaves today.” When he looked at her confusedly, she added “I lost the lion in the forest again” by means of explanation.

Turpin raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised Elagabalus still lets you have control of that beast,” he chuckled, “I still remember what happened when he got into the Stone Age Settlement!”

Laila groaned again, covering her face with her hands. “Don’t remind me. I’m surprised Ugg and Grunt have let me live it down!”

“I imagine Elizabeth will have you executed if she sees you in this state,” Turpin remarked, reaching out to pick the remaining twigs out of her hair, “providing you still live with her?”

“Oh yes,” Laila nodded, “Funnily enough, I was only having this conversation with Charlie this morning. I wouldn’t want to live on my own; most of the Monarchs who don’t live alongside relatives have their secretaries sharing the house with them, and I haven’t got one of those.” Just like Cecil lived with Elizabeth and Laila, Charles had Sotherby to keep him company when he wasn’t hosting any parties and the first George had his Prime Minister Walpole living with him as a terrible translator from German to English. Unlike their predecessor, Georges III and IV lived with each other and a large quantity of doctors to keep an eye on George III’s madness.

Turpin paused in thought for a moment before speaking again. “Is there not anyone else in Skinnymandria other than the MonarchsVille residents who would have you? Even just for a short while, as a break from living with Elizabeth?”

Laila shrugged, “I suppose so, though I haven’t really thought about it in much detail. I expect I’d be made welcome in the War Zone even though I’m a girl, half their army seems to be made up of women these days.” Turpin let out a short laugh, and Laila silenced him with a stern look before it disintegrated into a smile. “But I doubt I’d last very long with the Home Guard around, you wouldn’t believe how many accident books they’ve gone through!”

“You don’t need to explain, I remember all that from when I was still living in GeorgianTown,” Turpin laughed again, “Even the Chief Guard managed to land himself in the Historical Hospital on more than one occasion!”

“Nothing’s changed there, he was in there only last Sun-day for a pulled muscle in his back,” Laila giggled, “The irony is that he was giving a first aid demonstration when he sustained the injury!”

“I’d say that idea isn’t such a great one then. Anyone else?”

Laila paused to consider for a moment. “I suppose I could see how I fare in the Navy, Beaty’s said he’d take me on as an apprentice medic of sorts. Or there’s Joan of Arc, I’ve got on well with her since Boudicca introduced me a couple of years ago.”

“Well I wouldn’t rejoin the Georgian Navy for anything, ” Turpin muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Never managed to get my sea legs. Terrible time.” Once Laila’s laughter had subsided, his gaze softened as he added hesitantly “You could always live out here with me?”

Laila could only stare for a couple of seconds, unable to think of an answer. “There are times when I’d love to,” she began with, meaning every word. “But I couldn’t. I’d have to cut myself away from everyone in Skinnymandria, and I’d miss them too much.”

“And you don’t miss me?” Turpin asked immediately. Something that might have been hurt flashed across his expression for a brief second.

“Of course I do,” she smiled unhappily, “but at least we’ve got an arrangement where I can still see you regularly. If I joined you, they’d have no choice but to declare me a criminal and I’d never be able to see any of them again.”

Turpin let out a frustrated huff that Laila knew from experience was him admitting she was right. After a moment’s silence he said “I ought to get moving again, it’s too dangerous to stay in one place for too long. Until next time.” Without another word he climbed back onto his horse and cantered into the distance, out of earshot before Laila had a chance to call a goodbye.

As she waved to his retreating figure she couldn’t help but sigh. She knew she’d likely upset him, but unless he was allowed back into Skinnymandria by some miracle then she could see no way around it. Pushing the problem of Turpin out of her mind, she picked her bag back up and turned back towards MonarchsVille.

 

* * *

 

Laila was happy to see that Charles was back home when she knocked on his door, but the glum look in his dark brown eyes made her pause for a moment. “Looks like someone’s caught the blue-blooded blues,” she commented with a forced smile, knowing from experience that sometimes the best way to cheer up Charles was to make him laugh, but he only sighed and nodded. Leading him into the drawing room, she put her belongings down on the floor before sitting him down and giving him a fierce ‘what’s wrong’ look.

Charles sighed again before starting to speak. “After getting George to the Historical Dentist, I stopped by at Lizzie’s house to ask about getting you some more freedom.”

“I’m guessing her response wasn’t what you were hoping for,” Laila assumed with a sympathetic smile.

“Ha. No,” Charles laughed shortly, “To put it briefly, I was told that I was being a sumph- I think that’s Tudor slang for idiot? - and that if I pressed it again she would make me shorter by a head.”

Laila could only sigh in response, flopping back in her seat with an exasperated look on her face. Although most people had got used to Elizabeth’s constant threatening to execute people, Charles had always been upset by the subject since he’d nearly lost his father to the executioner’s axe. He had only been saved by Hephaestion’s timely arrival, and that act had led to the introduction of the ‘no deliberate killing’ rule that was established throughout Skinnymandria.  Giving her friend a comforting hug, she said to him “I know the Tudors in particular talk about beheading far too much, but just try to ignore them. At least we all know it can never happen again thanks to Heph’s rule.”

“I know,” Charles mumbled into her shoulder, “but it doesn’t make it any easier.”

The sound of frantic knocking made Laila jump, and after Charles managed to give her a shaky smile they both made their way to the door. To Laila’s surprise, they opened the door to see a tearful Richard III and furious-looking Boudicca on the doorstep.

“Lizzie told us you’d be here,” Boudicca said abruptly, marching past Laila and into the dining room without waiting for an invitation. Laila and Charles exchanged a confused glance before following her in, Laila taking Richard’s hand and leading him behind her. When they were all sat down at Charles’ enormous dinner table, Charles motioned at Boudicca to continue. “We’ve got a Tudor problem, and we figured you’d be the best person to talk to.”

Richard sniffed as he nodded, prompting Charles to hand him a handkerchief. “The two Henrys’ are making their hunchback jokes again, saying that I’ve got a limp and a withered arm. It’s completely untrue!”

“I’ll bet this is Shakespeare’s doing too,” Charles sighed as Laila made an attempt to sooth Richard. The Tudor playwright had a habit of putting Richard in a bad light, something not helped by the fact that one of his most popular plays featured a twisted version of Richard as the enemy.

“You’re not wrong,” Boudicca pulled a rolled sheet of paper from her swordbelt as she spoke, laying it out on the table. On it was a terribly inaccurate painting of Richard, showing him to have a significant humped back and a tiny withered arm. Written below the painting were the words, ‘My horse, my horse, my kingdom for a horse!’.

As Laila and Charles took a good look at the poster, Richard cried “I didn’t even say that!”

“Isn’t that the painter who does all of Oliver Cromwell’s portraits?” Laila asked, pointing to the name signed at the bottom of the poster.

Charles frowned thoughtfully as he read the name. “I think you might be right. I guess he specialises in painting ugly pictures, but the difference is that Cromwell’s are pretty spot.”

“All I can promise is that the next time I see Heph, I’ll talk to him.” Laila smiled in resignation. “Maybe I’ll win another Nobel Peace Prize for getting Shakespeare to keep his thoughts to himself. I’ll warn you though; Alexander once said to me that the person who can finally make peace between all the Monarchs all the time deserves their own statue!”

“I’m surprised he hadn’t tried harder then!” Boudicca remarked, finally bringing the smiles back to Charles and Richard’s forlorn faces.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've returned.  
> I can't promise the rest of these chapters will be posted now/soon, but writing this chapter has proved that I still love this story after all the years I left it on the shelf. It's been nearly 5 years since I first coined the idea of Laila's Skinnymandria so I have altered the plot a little, and even the chapters I rewrote 2 years ago here have been edited slightly. But all that means is that they're better than they ever were before.

The sound of the clock tower chiming was the first thing Laila heard the next morning, and she let out a groan as she buried her head in her pillow. As much as she enjoyed her Sun-days spent at the Historical Hospital, the early mornings were something she doubted she’d ever get used to. It took her until the seventh and final chime for her to finally accept she had to part with her bed, flinging back the hangings and standing up before almost tripping over her own feet in her half-asleep haze.

She was dressed and halfway through the process of tying her hair back when she heard Elizabeth’s voice shouting from downstairs. “Laila! Are you almost ready?”

“Almost!” she yelled back, hoping she wouldn’t come up the stairs just yet.

“Good, I’m just coming up!”

Laila cursed in Victorian under her breath as she wrestled her hair into a braid as fast as she could, then practically dived across the room towards her trunk just as the door latch lifted and Elizabeth let herself in. “Where’s your woolly hat!” she shrieked, very predictably.

“I’ve almost got it,” Laila muttered, before letting out a triumphant “Aha!” as she emerged with a grey knitted hat in hand. She hurriedly pulled it over her hair as she stood and let the lid of her trunk fall closed.

Elizabeth regarded her shrewdly for a moment. “Do you have everything you’ll need for the next week?” she asked, letting the subject fall, and Laila nodded. “Then I hope you enjoy your time with Charles. If there’s anything you think needs my attention then send a messenger into TudorTown and Pygmy will make sure it reaches me. If necessary I can leave the meeting and make it back into MonarchsVille within a day and-“

“Lizzie,” Laila interrupted, taking her adopted mother’s hands to stop her before she could continue any longer. Elizabeth always worried excessively if she had to leave Laila in anyone else’s care, convinced that Charles and Boudicca would be a bad influence without her there to keep them in check. “I’ll be fine, really. I’ve stayed with Charlie loads of times before and we’ve never had a problem.”

Elizabeth gave a pointed huff before appearing to relent a little. “Very well. Then I’ll bid you adieu.”

“I hope the meeting goes well.” A glance at her wristclock told Laila she was running out of time, so she surged forward to hug her briefly. “I’ve got to go, see you next week.”

Elizabeth stayed where she was as Laila dashed out of the room, rolling her eyes as she heard the front door slam. Before she went back to packing her own things she glanced around the room, smiling involuntarily at how much of her adopted daughter’s personality shone out of the room she called her own. Even though Elizabeth’s principles as a Tudor Monarch meant she disapproved of the sword leaning against the wall, and few pairs of trousers in the wardrobe, her love for the child she never thought she’d have meant she could just about overlook the few outside influences she’d picked up on over the years.

 

* * *

 

 

“Morning Laila,” the Head Nurse greeted her, not stopping as she hurried up the corridor. “You’re needed in the Arrivals Bay.”

Laila had no time to respond before she’d disappeared through the double doors. After pocketing her woolly hat and adjusting her name badge she made her own way down the corridor, finding the door marked ‘New Arrivals’ and letting herself in.

“Ah, Sir Laila, there you are!” called a high-pitched voice, and Laila looked over to see Dr Montague-Fuzzlepeck beckoning from the nearest bed. “You may assist me today. Come come!”

The patient was a familiar one to her; clearly John Joseph Merlin was still struggling to perfect his rollerskates. “Hello Laila,” he said sheepishly, holding a bloodied tissue to his nose.

“Hello Mr Merlin,” she said, taking off his wig to get a better look at the bruise forming on his forehead. “Another rollerskating accident I see?”

John Joseph hesitated a moment before nodding his head with a slight wince. “Well, yes. But they’re so easy! You just strap them to your existing shoe or bot or shoe! Trust me, before you know it all of GeorgianTown will be using my rollerskates to get around!”

Laila sighed, knowing nothing she could say would convince him otherwise. “Then I imagine I’ll have all of GeorgianTown queueing up for concussion treatment then,” she said, not unkindly, before looking around in surprise. “Where did the Doctor go?”

No sooner had she spoken did the smell of wig powder waft back into the air, seconds before Dr Montague-Fuzzlepeck reappeared. “I just went off to refill the jar,” he said in response to her unasked question, brandishing a glass jar of yellow liquid. “This man clearly has a tumour, requiring some ground woodlice, sugar, nutmeg, and-“ he swirled the contents of the jar, “-fresh urine!”

Laila grimaced. Catching sight of John Joseph’s alarmed expression, her mind raced to come up with a reason to give the Doctor something else to do. “I think I can handle this one actually Doctor. I was told earlier that George the Third’s been readmitted in the room next door, why don’t you go and see to him? I’m sure he’d prefer a Georgian Doctor to treat him.”

“What a good idea!” the Doctor cried. Laila tried not to look too obviously relieved until the doors had swung shut behind him.

“Thank you,” John Joseph said gratefully.

Laila hummed in acknowledgement as she resumed her work, gently wrapping a bandage around his head and prying the tissue away from his nose to check the bruising. “Your nosebleed has stopped which is a good sign, but you’re going to have a nasty black eye,” she said, handing him an ice pack before helping him to lie down slowly. “Keep the ice pack there and I’ll be back in ten minutes with some pain relief.”

With her first patient stable for the moment, Laila glanced around the busy ward for where she might be needed next. A waving hand caught her attention from the row of chairs opposite, where the Egyptian Doctor was slowly making his way round the patients.

After a last glance to make sure John Joseph was resting, she drew the curtains around his bed and headed over with a cheery “Morning Dr Isis!”

“Good morning Laila, I could do with an assistant over here if you’re not busy,” Dr Isis said, motioning to the patients he had yet to see.

“I could do with being treated rather than left sat here bleeding if you don’t mind!” snapped a patient. 

Laila glanced behind her to see Stephen I with a makeshift cloth bandage wrapped tightly around one hand. “Let me have a look then,” she said, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a deep cut slicing across his palm. “I’m assuming this is a sword-related incident, how did it happen?”

A look of embarrassment crossed Stephen’s face. “I was arguing with Matilda, and I was attempting to show off my power and fighting skills. It, err, didn’t quite go to plan.” Laila raised her eyes but didn’t respond; the feud between Stephen and Matilda had gone on for as long as anyone could remember and showed no signs of ever ending.

“I’d be tempted to rub a little honey into that, and perhaps some myrtle leaves for the pain?” suggested Dr Isis from where he was looking over Laila’s shoulder.

Stephen looked questioningly at first Laila, then the doctor. “Are you quite sure? I’ve never heard of those treatments before.”

“That’s because you’re a Medieval City Monarch, these cures are all well known in the Egyptian Village.” Dr Isis scoffed disapprovingly.

Laila nodded. “The Egyptian Doctors are some of the best in Skinnymandria,” she said, though Stephen still looked far from convinced. While it was true that Dr Isis was fantastic with minor wounds and injuries, some of his other cures weren’t quite to the same standard.

While Dr Isis saw to Stephen’s hand, Laila turned her attention to the woman in the next bed who hadn’t been seen to yet. “Well, it doesn’t take a lot to guess what happened here!” Laila said with a slight sigh as she took in the scratches on her face and neck. Elagabalus always liked baiting Georgian and Victorian woman with his lion because they apparently had the best reactions, and it seemed that this was his latest victim.

“That’s what I said earlier, we had Mrs Tumbleby-Pumblechook in here yesterday for the exact same reason!” called Dr Isis from somewhere behind her.

“Actually, I haven’t come from one of Elagabalus’ dinner parties,” the patient interrupted, causing Laila to look back at her in surprise. “The name’s Hannah Twynnoy, I’m a barmaid in GeorgianTown. There’s a travelling fayre that borrowed some animals from the Victorian City zoo, and I thought it’d be fun to prod the tiger with a stick and see what its reaction would be.”

Laila was speechless for a moment; she would have assumed Elagabalus’s legendary lion would have put people off poking wild animals for life but it clearly hadn’t. “Then I think you’ve had a lucky escape Miss Twynnoy,” she said, taking the jar of honey from Dr Isis and gently smearing it over the injured side of her face.

Before she had a chance to see anyone else, the sound of the doors banging open made everyone jump and look over to see Dr Gaila and Mr Tonsillitis, the Roman doctor and dentist, rushing into the room and towards a curtained-off bed at the end of the ward. Overcome with curiosity, Laila followed more slowly and peered round the curtain to see Dominic Duckworth sat on the bed with a split lip and swollen jaw. The HHTV Investigator was always getting into scrapes and it seemed today was no exception.

Mr Tonsillitus greeted her with a brief “Hail Laila,” before pulling a chair up to sit in front of Dom. “Open wide then Mr Duckworth!”

“I tell you, those monks in the Skinnymandrian Abbey can be dodgy and violent sometimes,” he groaned before opening his mouth to reveal what looked like several bloodied teeth.

Laila grimaced and left them to it. In the next bed she saw One-Eyed Ned pulling cactus spikes out of a Victorian gentleman’s face, followed by another Georgian patient. The ward seemed to be full of them today, she reflected, taking in his pink cheeks and damp brow. She recognised the patient as Beau Brummel, George IV’s closest friend, but the Stuart doctor was looking very confused indeed.

“Morning Dr Culpepper, can I help at all?” Laila asked to catch his attention.

The Doctor gave a chesty cough before he spoke, making Laila wonder whether she should be treating him too. “Ah yes, thank you. Mr Mohamed took Mr Brummel to AztecTown for a meal and it appears he hasn’t coped with their spicy food very well. I’ve sent for an AztecTown doctor, I’m completely clueless.”

Laila nodded, figuring that was probably the best course of action. “I’m surprised George isn’t here too, he’s usually found wherever the food is,” she commented.

“He was invited but he’s still got-“ Beau’s strained voice trailed off as he started coughing, his already flushed face going even redder as he struggled to catch his breath. Laila hurriedly passed him a glass of water and helped him drink until he was able to speak again. “George has a broken tooth, couldn’t come.”

Laila was immediately taken back to the previous day’s dinner party. “Of course, I was there when it happened. I told him that tooth was broken but Charlie had to practically drag him to the Historical Dentist. Well at least he saved himself from this.”

She was interrupted by another coughing fit from Dr Culpepper, wracking his frame so violently he was forced to brace himself on the end of the bed for support. Laila was about to hurry over to him when Dr Hippocrates beat her to it, grabbed the Dr Culpepper’s shoulders, and started shaking him up and down.

“Don’t worry Laila, this is perfectly safe!” Dr Hippocrates attempted to reassure her, but the worsening coughs coming from Dr Culpepper didn’t have her convinced. Dr Hippocrates pressed his ear to Dr Culpepper’s chest and listened for a second before shaking his head. “I can’t hear any splashing, meaning you don’t have lung disease.”

“Of course I don’t, I smoke tobacco to keep myself healthy!” Dr Culpepper retorted, straightening out his waistcoat and glaring at Dr Hippocrates.

Beau was struggling to breathe again, so Laila blocked out the two doctors’ argument as she helped him take a slow sip of water. “Let’s get your jacket off, it might help you cool down a little,” she suggested, taking off his jacket and undoing the top couple of buttons on his shirt. A brief trip to the nearest sink later and she had a cool damp cloth, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand before gently wiping his brow. “This should keep you comfortable until the Aztec doctor arrives,” she assured him.

“Be careful with my jacket!” he practically squeaked, one hand on his throat.

Laila supressed a small smile, of course that would be Beau’s priority. The doctors’ shouting suddenly got louder, but when Laila turned to sort out their argument she was surprised to find they’d both fallen quiet. Everyone in the ward seemed to be looking towards the curtained off bed next to John Joseph Merlin; even he was looking round his curtain with a curious expression and the icepack still pressed to his forehead, reminding Laila she needed to get him some pain medication once she’d sorted out this argument.

The voice of the Dr Ushma, Arabian Healer, became clear as Laila pulled back the curtain to see the two doctors playing tug of war with a rusty saw. “Don’t worry Dr Nutberg, I have everything under control here. I have already given the patient a herbal remedy which should calm his allergic reaction in no time.”

“You primitive fool!” snarled Dr Nutberg, one of the Crusader doctors from the Medieval City. “What he needs is for me to cut open the top of his head and drain away the evil causing his condition!”

Neither doctor seemed to have noticed Laila yet, so she crept round them to take a look at the patient herself. It was Bob Hale, the much-loved HHTV reporter, and it didn’t take much to work out why he’d been admitted. Judging by the crumbs of cheese pressed into his jacket, he’d clearly forgotten he was allergic to feta cheese and given himself the eighth allergic reaction in the last year. Laila sighed, reminding herself to wipe clean the ‘number of days since Bob Hale ate feta cheese’ tally marks in the staff room when she was on her lunch break.

Bob let out a sudden sneeze, which Laila took as a good sign. “I think he’s recovering, Dr Nutberg,” she pointed out, interrupting the ongoing fight.

“Aha!” Dr Ushma crowed triumphantly. “In that case, Dr Nutberg, you can take your Crusader medicine somewhere else and I’ll be taking this!” He pulled the saw harder and took

Dr Nutberg was clearly taken by surprise, the movement sending him staggering into an unhelpfully placed pillar. He let out a pained groan when the back of his head collided with stone, cradling his head in his hands as he muttered “I feel a little lightheaded.”

“Well in that case, let me give you a taste of your own medicine. Literally!” cried Dr Ushma, brandishing the saw and taking a step towards him.

As much as she disliked Dr Nutberg, Laila stepped in between the Arabian Healer and the cowering Crusader Doctor. “I think a checkup and an ice pack would do just fine, Dr Ushma,” she said, looking up at him pleadingly. From the corner of her eye she saw Bob trying to sit up so added “I can look after Mr Hale while you get Dr Nutberg seen to.”

Dr Ushma looked at her for a moment before relenting, placing a steadying hand on Dr Nutberg’s elbow as they left the curtain.

With that problem dealt with, Laila moved back to Bob’s bedside and helped him sit up against the back of the bed. “Oh hello Laila,” he said, sounding somewhat confused. “What are you doing in my bedroom- oh. Oh, it’s happened again, hasn’t it? I really need to start remembering I’m allergic to feta cheese.”

“I think that would be a good idea, Mr Hale,” Laila said with an exasperated shake of her head, passing him a glass of water.

“I reckon everyone’s getting feta-up with me!” he joked. As Laila burst out laughing he looked very pleased with himself, adding “Little joke there, nice one Bobsy!”

 

* * *

 

 

After a long eight hours on the ward, Laila was surprised to see Charles and Boudicca both sat in the hospital waiting room. Suddenly alarmed she rushed over, but relaxed a little when Charles stood up and smiled upon noticing her.

“Don’t worry, nothing’s happened! We just thought we’d come and pick you up, that’s all!” he said, eyes wide with mirth as he tried not to laugh.

Boudicca didn’t even bother trying, laughing loudly as she clapped Laila on the shoulder. “Seems we got you good, eh?”

Laila gave an exaggerated sigh, walking between them as they left the hospital. “I thought one of you had hurt yourself or something!”

Charles shook his head. “Nope, I’ve never been better. How was your day?”

“Hectic,” she said, though in reality all her days there could be described as hectic. “Nothing out of the ordinary though, I think I had most of the regulars in actually. John Joseph Merlin’s had another rollerskating accident, Dom Duckworth’s been injured on another investigation, Bob Hale forgot his allergies again, and I had yet another Georgian woman in for poisoning symptoms caused by her make-up.”

Boudicca gave an exasperated shake of her head at the last comment. “And that’s why I can’t be doing with the stuff. Egyptian eyeliner, Georgian face powder, none of it’s good for you.”

Pointing at his own forehead where Boudicca’s tribal designs were drawn on in blue ink, Charles asked “What about that?”

“It’s made of plants, perfectly safe,” she retorted with a triumphant grin.

Charles held up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough, fair enough.”

“I’m just glad I won’t be there tomorrow,” Laila pressed on, interrupting their teasing. “It’s Artois Day, if it’s anything like usual then the ward will be packed with injuries.”

“I assume you’ll be staying inside all day then?” Charles asked.

Laila gave a firm nod. Boudicca muttered something darkly under her breath; she’d never forgiven him for nearly drowning Laila over a decade ago.

Clearly attempting to brighten up the conversation, Charles continued with “Shall we go up the hill and watch the sunset? We should have enough time to get there, my astronomer said it’d be a beautifully clear night tonight.”

“Let’s do it then, it’ll be a nice calm end to the day I’ve had!” Laila laughed.

Boudicca nodded keenly. “The hill’s on the way to my house anyway, I can leave you there and get home before it’s completely dark.”

With their plan decided they changed direction and turned towards the outskirts of the forest, a well-known shortcut round the back of MonarchsVille that would get them there faster. Suddenly Laila screamed in alarm as the ground fell away from under her feet, limbs flailing frantically as they all fell into a deep pit.

Boudicca recovered first, already back on her feet while Laila struggled to stand from where she’d landed on top of Charles. “Who was responsible for this?” she roared as she drew an arrow in her bow, looking every inch the fierce Celtic warrior.

There was no answer for a moment. Then somewhere in the distance they heard a faint “You’ve been Artois’d!”

“Must’ve been setting up his pranks for tomorrow and we fell right in,” Charles muttered as Laila helped him to his feet, dusting off his tunic.

Boudicca let out a growl of frustration as she loosed her arrow. It sailed through the air and out of sight over the edge of the pit, and then they all winced as they heard a shriek of pain.

After a few moment’s shocked silence, Charles broke the quiet first. “I think you just shot him.”

“Boost me up and I’ll have a look,” Laila said, but in reality she already knew the answer. Boudicca held her steady as she climbed onto Charles’ shoulders, immediately spotting Robert Artois flailing around trying to reach the arrow sticking out of his shoulder. “It’s a yes,” she called down, to which both Boudicca and Charles groaned.

Laila moved over as Boudicca climbed out of the pit next, then they both held down their hands to pull Charles up beside them. “You’re going to have to file an incident report with Hephaestion,” he said, giving Boudicca a look.

Boudicca threw up her hands in despair. “Why! He’s not dead, it’s no worse than what he did to us!”

“I’m only glad Lizzie’s in TudorTown for the next week,” Laila said, “because if she finds out about this she’ll have his head off, incident report or not!”


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4 

* * *

When Laila let herself in through Charles’ front door after lunch, she was surprised to find the house just as quiet as she’d left it a couple of hours earlier. But upon making her way into the dining room she found him, half asleep in his chair with his head propped up on one elbow.

Trying not to giggle, Laila took off her shoes to tiptoe across the floor in her woollen socks until she was stood right next to him. “Morning!” she said brightly, then burst out laughing when Charles jolted awake in fright, his head slipping off his hand and hitting the table with a thud.

“Oh you’re wicked you are,” laughed another voice, and Laila turned to see Nell Gwyn crossing the room with two plates of breakfast. Charles had gone to a party in StuartVille the previous evening and she hadn’t heard him return, so it didn’t surprise her to see that he’d brought her home with him.

Charles gave a quiet moan from where his head was buried in his tunic, but he looked up when Nell placed food in front of him. “Don’t encourage her dear,” he said, his expression still slightly pained.

“Morning Nell. And I need no encouragement,” Laila declared, sitting down opposite them. “I take it the party was good last night?”

Nell nodded. “Oh yes, one of the best ones for a while actually. There’s more food in the kitchen if you wanted anything Laila.”

As tempting as it looked – Nell always made brilliant breakfasts, one of the reasons Laila never had a problem with her staying overnight – Laila shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ve only just had lunch. Lady Cranky-Portcullis invited me over, and no-“ she continued quickly as both Charles and Nell looked at her in alarm “-she didn’t serve fish, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Charles still looked unconvinced, hurriedly swallowing his mouthful before he spoke. “I still wouldn’t be too careful, I remember how unwell Boudicca was the last time she was invited to Lady Cranky-Portcullis’.”

“Don’t we all,” Laila said, grimacing slightly. That had been a few years ago, during the annual toilet clean while Laila, Charles, and Elizabeth were all staying in her hut, and the week of fun the three of them had planned had been all but wrecked by Boudicca being unable to get out of bed.

“She’ll be fine love,” Nell said, ever the optimist, before turning back to Laila. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat? Even on her good days Lady Cranky isn’t the best cook in Skinnymandria.”

Laila hummed in thought for a moment before she was won over by the tempting smell of Nell’s mid-afternoon breakfast. “Go on then,” she grinned, eagerly taking the piece of French toast that Charles offered her.

The rest of the afternoon was a quiet one. Charles and Sotherby, his long-suffering secretary, spent most of it trawling through accounts while Laila helped Nell learn her lines for the next play she had been cast in. It was a fun job for both of them, and not for the first time Laila wondered what it would be like if she joined Nell in acting out Shakespeare and Dicken’s works in the MonarchsVille theatre. Of course it would take some persuading for Elizabeth to agree, but since she’d been swayed into letting Laila learn archery and take a job at the Hospital she was sure she’d agree eventually.

Nell had long since gone home by the time they sat down after dinner, so it was just the two of them in the drawing room once Sotherby retired upstairs. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Charles asked her for what Laila felt was about the hundredth time that day.

Laila rolled her eyes, picking up her book from where she’d left it earlier. “There’s been no change from ten minutes ago, I promise I’m still fine!”

Charles laughed at the exasperation in her tone, then let silence fall between them as they read their own books. It was nearly half an hour later that Laila swallowed heavily and let out a deep breath, the room suddenly feeling very muggy.

“Without wanting to repeat myself, are you sure you’re alright?” Charles broke the quiet, though unlike previous times he now sounded genuinely concerned. “You’re paler than a Georgian, and that’s saying quite something.”

Nodding in an effort to convince both him and herself, Laila let her book fall into her lap as she slumped down into the armchair. “I’m fine,” she said, but even to herself her voice sounded hollow.

Charles gave a thoughtful hum. Laila was about to add something else when her stomach suddenly jumped horribly, and she instinctively clapped a hand over her mouth as she realised with awful clarity that she was about to be sick. She was on her feet in an instant and sprinting towards the toilet, hurtling through the door just in time to throw up into the toilet bowl.

Gentle hands plaiting her hair out of the way alerted her to Charles’ presence, and she gave him a weak thumbs-up in thanks as she slumped exhausted against the toilet. His hand was so achingly cool when he pressed it to her forehead that she couldn’t help leaning into the touch, feeling as if she was on fire.

“You’re burning up, you’re really not well,” Charles said, panic seeping into his tone. He paused for a minute, eyebrows knitted together in deep thought, before he jumped to his feet and raced out the room.

Laila watched him go for a moment, vaguely wondering where he was going and when he was coming back. The next thing she knew, she was face down on the floor and someone was gently shaking her shoulders. “Laila? Oh god, Laila!”

She hummed in acknowledgement, too tired and confused to ask what had happened. If she focused she could make out Charles’ frightened face above her; clearly it had been him who had been calling her name.

“I’ve telephoned Mary Seacole, she said to put you to bed and she’ll be here tomorrow morning,” Charles continued, his voice still strained but not quite so desperate. When Laila hummed again he slipped an arm under hers to help her off the floor, taking nearly all of her weight as he helped her back into the drawing room and onto the comfiest settee. “You can stay here for the night, you’re closer to the toilet down here than in your bedroom. And it might be a bit warmer,” he added, glancing towards the glowing fireplace.

Laila gave a slight nod as she lay down clumsily, gripping tightly to his hand until the world had stopped tilting and she was no longer convinced she was about to fall off. The warmth of the fire was nice but she still gripped tightly to the blanket Charles lay down on her, pulling it up over her chin as she curled up on her side. She wasn’t sure if she imagined the gentle hand brushing her hair away from her face before sleep claimed her.

* * *

  

_It was dark, and she was cold._

_As the wind howled around her she wrapped her arms tighter around her, shivering as she looked around for someone she recognised. A flash of lightening illuminated a shadow coming towards her, but fear spiked in her chest as red eyes blinked out of the dark where the shadow had been seconds before. Her breath hitched in her throat as she tripped over a root and landed hard on her back, scrabbling backwards until rough tree bark scraped her against her shoulders and she realised with cold hard dread that she’d managed to corner herself._

_“Mother?” she called, her voice rising to a scream as lightening cracked again and the shadow rose above her. “Someone help! Mother!”_

“Laila, wake up!”

Her eyes flew open to see a ginger-haired figure above her, but instead of being Elizabeth it was Boudicca. “Shh, Laila, it’s ok, you just had a nightmare. You’re alright,” she said as Laila scrabbled to sit up, her usually gravelly voice soft through the dark.

Laila nodded, her chest heaving as she tried to gulp in air. Her chest felt too tight, her head felt too light, she was going to-

“Whoa, stay with me there,” Boudicca spoke again as Laila swayed forwards, her voice the only thing keeping her grounded as her heartbeat ran away with her. A calloused hand picked up one of hers and placed it over Boudicca’s chest where Laila could feel her heartbeat through her palm. “Deep breaths like I’m doing. You’re going to be fine.”

“What’s wrong?” asked a new voice, Charles’ face swimming into focus as Laila looked up from holding Boudicca’s gaze He was dressed in his nightclothes and carrying a candlestick, the flame illuminating every line on his worried expression as he watched Laila anxiously. 

Still unable to speak, Laila felt a brief spark of gratitude somewhere amongst the confusion and exhaustion when Boudicca replied for her. “Nightmare, probably a fever dream. She’ll be alright though.”

Charles crouched down next to the sofa to look more closely at her, placing the candle down on the coffee table so as not to set his hair on fire. “You’re sure?” he asked, sounding as anxious as he looked.

“Yes, Charlie, she just needs rest,” Boudicca replied, unusually patient considering it had to be the middle of the night. With her free hand she brushed away the curls that had stuck to Laila’s damp forehead and tear-stained cheeks before checking her temperature just as Charles had done a few hours ago.  “Her fever isn’t awful; when Mary gets here tomorrow she’ll know better than me. All we can do in the meantime is get some sleep ourselves.”

A sudden feeling of panic shot through Laila’s chest when Boudicca went to stand up, gripping even tighter to Boudicca’s hand. “Don’t go,” she whimpered, reaching out blindly with the other hand until she found the sleeve of Charles’ nightshirt. “Please, both of you stay?”

Boudicca and Charles exchanged a glance, before Boudicca looked back down at her and shrugged. “Alright, if you want me to. Shift over a bit.”

Laila did what she was told before Boudicca settled herself down somewhat awkwardly on the sofa beside her, opening her arms for Laila to lean into her chest. It was something she hadn’t done since she was very young, but despite the years that had gone by it still felt comfortingly familiar. A grunt of effort and a skidding sound made her look over to see Charles pushing his armchair towards them with relative difficulty, the sight comical enough to make her smile just slightly despite the lingering fright from her dream. He reached out and took her hand before slumping heavily into his chair, and Laila finally felt safe enough to risk closing her eyes again.

It could have been five minutes or five days before she became aware of someone gently playing with her hair.  When she blinked open one eye she could see sunlight spilling through the crack in the curtains, telling her it was morning despite feeling much the same as she had the evening before.

“You still alive then?” Laila tilted her head upwards as Boudicca broke the silence. Her voice was scratchy with sleep, but still held the same almost motherly gentleness that Laila had heard during the night.

Laila merely grunted as an answer, too tired to think of anything better.

Boudicca laughed, the movement jostling Laila’s head and causing her headache to come back in full force. “Sorry,” Boudicca said quickly as Laila groaned, resting her hand on Laila’s temple. “Feeling any better though? You were in a bit of a state last night.”

“Maybe,” Laila managed to say. Her memory of the night was fuzzy enough that she might have passed it all off as a bad dream; if it weren’t for the fact Boudicca had just reminded her, Charles’ hand dangling from where it had slipped from Laila’s while they were asleep would have been the only evidence it had happened. Suddenly the one detail that didn’t make sense clicked in her mind and she cleared her throat before asking “How’d you get here?”

“I stopped by yesterday evening about something else and offered to stay when Charlie said you were sick. One look at his face and I knew he’d need my help. He looks almost worse than you do now,” Boudicca explained, glancing towards where Charles was still almost comatose in the armchair. Laila looked over too, smiling at the comical way his head was lolled onto one shoulder and his mouth hung slightly open.

The peace didn’t last for long though, as a sharp knock on the door had Charles awake and flying out of his seat immediately in his haste to get to the door. Boudicca and Laila both winced as went flying over the coffee table and crashed to the floor, but he was up a second later and sprinting out into the hallway. Laila glanced confusedly at Boudicca, but her unasked question was answered moments later when Mary Seacole followed him back into the drawing room.

“Good morning Laila, how are you feeling this morning? Any improvement on last night?” Mary asked brightly, putting her bag down before sitting in Charles’ chair.

“Maybe,” Laila repeated, letting Boudicca help her sit up. She still felt oddly unsteady, as if she would collapse again without the support of Boudicca’s arm around her back. “I feel really sick and shaky, and my head hurts.”

Mary leaned forward to feel Laila’s forehead. “You’ve got a high temperature which explains the chills, all of which point to food poisoning. I think I’ll be reporting Lady Cranky to the Grimefighters if she can’t even feed people meat safely anymore.”

“Are you sure she hasn’t got scrofula?” Charles asked, leaning over Mary’s shoulder with the worried look back in his eyes. “I know how to cure that you see, I think I’ve got a gold coin-“

He was interrupted by shouts of “Make way!” coming from the hallway seconds before two strangers burst into the drawing room. “Make way sir!” One of them repeated more firmly as Charles didn’t move, taking him by the shoulders and steering him out of the room despite his protests.

“Tudor paramedics ma’am, sent by the Queen,” the other introduced himself, before looking back at his partner who had just shut the door in Charles’ face. “Nigel, I believe this lady is suffering from-“ he paused to give a dramatic look “-sickness!”

“I concur! Geoff, should we take her pulse?” Nigel asked with equal flair, rushing back over.

“No, she may need it!” Geoff replied, before they both burst into odd-sounding laughter.

Laila had to try hard not to laugh despite her tiredness; she often had to rescue patients from the Skinnymandrian band of paramedics during her days at the Hospital but she’d never imagined it would ever be her who needed rescuing.

Mary’s exaggerated eye roll told her she wasn’t the only one who knew of the paramedics’ antics. “Stomach cramps, nausea, fever, and a headache. Why, what are you going to do to her?” she asked sharply as Nigel started searching around in his satchel.

“Well I believe there is simply one thing for it,” Geoff said, before both the paramedics broke into song as they added “Fust-i-gaaa-tioooon!”

Laila’s eyebrows rose in a mixture of surprise and amusement. Mary was clearly none the wiser though, her tone growing more impatient as she asked “What in Skinnymandria’s name is Fustigation, I’ve never seen it practised!”

Nigel gave her a dirty look as he finally pulled a bat out of his satchel. “Of course you haven’t, you’re from the Victorian City. We’re going to beat the sickness out of her!”

“That is absolutely out of the question!” Mary snapped just as Boudicca went to lunge forwards towards him.

Geoff sniffed disdainfully. “Well then, I suppose we could try a Victorian treatment if it would you better. Nigel, do you have any bacon?”

Nigel paused in reluctantly putting the bat back in his satchel to have another rummage. “Of course, freshly and ready to cook!” he said triumphantly, pulling out a parcel of meat and a saucepan before hurrying over to the fireplace.

“And what is bacon going to do? She has food poisoning, she shouldn’t be eating anything!” Mary said, Nigel ignoring her protests as he set the saucepan up over the fire.

“Nonsense madame!” Geoff interrupted, shaking his head. “She clearly has the tapeworm. She won’t be eating the bacon, we will use the smell to tempt the tapeworm out of her stomach!” Mary let out a groan as she threw her hands up in despair.

Boudicca leaned towards Laila and whispered in her ear “Is this what you have to cope with at the Hospital?”

“Pretty much,” Laila whispered back, unable to keep the smile off her face at Boudicca’s stunned expression.

“Don’t know how you do it,” Boudicca muttered back, shaking her head slightly.

Laila didn’t reply; the smell of bacon had started wafting across the room, and with that her stomach had suddenly started churning again. Fearing the worst she attempted to stand up to sprint to the toilet, but nearly toppled over when the ground seemed to fall out from under her. She shook her head in protest when Mary caught her and pushed her back onto the sofa, but Boudicca’s quick instincts came to her rescue when she shoved a fire bucket under Laila’s chin.

“There we go, it’s working! Good work Geoff!” Nigel cried out, hugging his partner

“Working? It’s making her feel worse!” Mary shouted. Boudicca only glared at them, rubbing soothing circles on Laila’s back.

Geoff and Nigel took a step back to look firstly at each other, then back at Laila. “Well I suppose we’re back to Fustigation then,” Geoff shrugged, tugging the bat back out of Nigel’s satchel before pushing past Mary with the bat raised over his head.

In one fluid movement, Boudicca was on her feet with her sword drawn just as Geoff brought the bat down. “I’ve had just about enough of you two,” she growled as Geoff attempted to retrieve his bat from where the steel of Boudicca’s sword had bitten into the wood. “Get out of here, both of you, before this ends up in one of your necks.”

Silence held for a moment as Geoff quailed under Boudicca’s sharp green glare. “Run away!” he shouted, picking up the satchel as he ran. Nigel was right on his heels, hurdling the coffee table in his haste to get too the door.

“And let Charlie in on your way out!” Mary called after them.

The sound of the front door slamming was more than welcome, and all three of them let out a sigh just as Charles poked his head around the door. “How did you get them to leave?” he asked, taking in the sight of Laila with her head in a fire bucket and hurrying towards them.

“I threatened to stick them,” Boudicca said, sheathing her sword again and sitting back down beside Laila.

“Surprisingly effective really,” Mary nodded, then flinched as someone banged on the front door. “If that’s them again,” she grumbled under her breath, walking into the hallway.

Feeling composed enough to not need the bucket anymore, Laila peered over the rim to meet Charles’ worried frown that seemed to be becoming a permanent fixture now. “How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the coffee table.

Laila groaned, slumping into Boudicca’s side. “Not brilliant,” she said, nodding briefly when Charles went to put the bucket on the floor before it fell off her lap.

Mary clicked the drawing room door shut again as she came back in, carrying a handful of letters and leaflets. “Just the post, no sign of the paramedics. You really should put a letterbox in your door Charlie, everyone has them in the Victorian City and they make it so much easier.”

Taking the letters from Mary and leafing through them, Charles shook his head. “StuartVille hasn’t switched to the penny post though, I still have to pay at the door for most of my letters.”

“No post in the Celtic District,” Boudicca shrugged, shifting slightly to free her arm from between Laila and the sofa.  “Took me a while to get used to it when I moved to MonarchsVille.  Is that from the Skinnymandrian Abbey?”

Charles hummed in acknowledgement. “It’s addressed to Laila so I assume they’ve found she’s not well. There must have been a monk at the Tudor hierarchy meeting when I telephoned Cecil yesterday evening,” Charles said, opening the envelope and pulling out a leaflet. “Argh, there’s a tooth in here!” he suddenly gasped, jumping backwards as a tooth fell out of the envelope and clattered on the floor.

“It’s probably one of their relics,” Mary said, grimacing slightly as she used the corner of her apron to pick the tooth up. “What else did they send?”

“A leaflet for Cash My Sin, they’re convinced Laila has committed a horrible crime and must pay to be cured,” Charles said with an exasperated sigh.

Laila had the distinct feeling that there was something significant about the tooth, staring at it for a few moments until her thoughts caught up with her instincts. “Dom Duckworth was in the Hospital on Sunday for a missing tooth after investigating the abbey, I wonder if it’s his,” she mused aloud quietly, causing everyone else to glance surprisedly at her.

“Well I doubt he’ll be wanting it back now,” Charles said with a laugh, holding open the envelope for Mary to drop the tooth back into.

“Did you say you telephoned Cecil?” Boudicca asked, changing the subject away from Dom Duckworth’s tooth.

Charles nodded. “I thought it’d be better Lizzie found out about Laila quickly so I telephoned him after putting Laila to bed. Otherwise if she found out by herself I imagine she’d march straight back from TudorTown and break my door down herself.” Laila smiled at that; from past experiences with her adopted mother she reckoned he was probably right.

Boudicca burst out laughing. “I’m surprised she hasn’t done that anyway! Hold on, didn’t the paramedics say they were sent by the Queen?”

There was quiet for a moment as everyone thought, before Mary nodded first. “She must have found out then if she called for the paramedics to be sent. I’m with Boudicca here, I’m very surprised she hasn’t at least telephoned this morning.”

A knock on the drawing room door interrupted them; Laila was suddenly dreading the return of the paramedics until Charles called out “Come in, Sothers.”

Sotherby let himself in carrying a tray on which rested Charles’ telephone. “You appear to be receiving a telephone call, sir,” he said, glancing between Charles and the device that he carried. Laila resisted the urge to snigger; Sotherby’s struggles with Victorian technology weren’t anything new. “Elizabeth is calling from Henry Seventh’s TudorTown residence.”

“Well that solves your query Mary!” Charles said, taking the telephone from Sotherby and giving him the envelope containing Dom Duckworth’s tooth in exchange. “Pop that in my office dear chap, and best you don’t open it.”

“Right you are sir,” Sotherby nodded, looking more confused by the moment as he left them to it.

Charles held out the phone to Laila first, but when she shook her head he picked the call up himself. “Ahoy-hoy, this is Charlie speaking?”

Even without holding the phone herself, Laila winced as a deafening burst of indecipherably shouting blasted out of the receiver. Charles clapped a hand to his ear and pulled the phone away until the noise quietened down again before daring to hold the receiver any closer. “Erm, Lizzie? Could you hold the phone a bit further away please?”

Boudicca held her hands over Laila’s ears in preparation for another blast of noise, but clearly Elizabeth had got the message as. She watched Charles’ expression carefully for a reaction as he spoke to Elizabeth, before mouthing “She wants to talk to you,” and passing the telephone over.

Wary of being deafened by her adopted mother’s shouting, Laila cautiously held the phone to her ear before she called “Ahoy-hoy?”

“Laila! My child!” Elizabeth screeched down the line, but thankfully it wasn’t as loud as it had been the first time.

Trying to make her voice sound as bright as possible, Laila replied “It’s alright Lizzie, I’m fine.” From Boudicca’s frown she gathered she wasn’t managing it very well. “Err, how’s the meeting?”

Elizabeth made a high-pitched noise in frustration. “Henry won’t let me leave early! They’re just arguing about the religious switchover when I really do not care!”

Instantly regretting her choice of subject change, Laila made a clumsy attempt to backtrack quickly. “You don’t need to worry, Mary Seacole’s here. She’s said I’m-“

“Did the paramedics I sent turn up?”

Laila paused at the interruption, trying to think up a response that would be at least partially truthful without making Elizabeth angrier. “Yes, but they didn’t stay long. It was my fault really, I shouldn’t have gone to Lady Cranky’s for lunch.”

“Lady Cranky?!” Elizabeth asked, not giving her a chance to answer before Laila heard her shout “Call my executioner!”

“Lizzie? Lizzie!” Laila shouted down the receiver, but after a few moments the line went dead.

The quiet continued for a few moments before Charles broke it with an overly chirpy “Well, I’d say that went well!” Letting out a groan Laila fell back into Boudicca’s side, turning her head to hide it in her red hair.

“Tired?” Boudicca laughed, and as Laila nodded she suddenly realised she felt exhausted again.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” asked Charles, the concern flooding back into his voice.

Laila shook her head stubbornly, but that was the last thing she remembered as she sank further into the crook of Boudicca’s arm and fell back asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Please give kudos/comments if you liked the story, your appreciation fuels my writing and gives me the motivation to go faster! I'm accepting suggestions for this story so please flood me with comments and ideas, I love hearing them!


End file.
